A Woman at the Bottom of It.
"To TELL the truth," said John Haviland, as he threw aside his evening paper, and faced the little group in the parlor, "I am fast growing out of patience with this text—'a woman at the bottom of it.' It would be strange in this world, made up, as far as we are aware of, of nothing but the two sexes, if a woman would not occasionally be found at the bottom of anything good! It is the injustice of the thing that makes me angry. Now there are hundreds of us poor fellows who owe all we are, all we have and all we can hope to become, in this world or the next, to the unselfish love of woman." The gentleman's face was flushed, and he spoke very warmly and feelingly, so much so that his wife, rocking her baby to sleep in the farther corner of the room inquired:— "But why should you care, John? It has always been so, and always will be. We don't think much about it now because we have been taught to expect it." "But you should care! and you should stand up for each other more than you do. There is one chapter in my life history that I have always locked in my heart, but to-night I feel as if it were my duty to open it for your inspection; and I do it for the love of woman—for the love of one woman who made me what I am worthy to be, the husband of a good woman." "Why, John," said Mrs. Haviland, softly approaching—babe still held tight to her bosom—"You absolutely frighten me." "Let's have the story," said the rest of the group, certain that something good might be anticipated; and John commenced, at first a little timidly, but gaining confidence as he proceeded. "When I first came to New York, at the age of twelve years, to seek my fortune I can call myself a precocious chap without danger of being accused of an unusual degree of self-appreciation. I was quick to learn everything, the bad as well as the good. My employer used profane language. I picked up the oaths he dropped with a naturalness that surprised myself even. The boys in the office all chewed tobacco. This was a little the hardest job I ever attempted, but after two weeks of nausea and indescribable stomach-wrenchings, I came off victorious, and could get away with my paper a day with the best of 'em. "True every word of it," continued the speaker. "One afternoon I was sent with a note from my employer to a house in the upper part of the city. I had n't anything to read, but I had a plenty of tobacco, and with that I proposed to entertain myself during the two or three hours I must spend in the passage. For some distance I did not notice who were beside me, but by and by a lady said very softly and pleasantly, 'Would you please, little boy, be more careful, I am going to a party this afternoon, and I should hate to have my dress spoiled.' "I looked into her face. It was the sweetest face I ever saw. Pale, earnest and loving, to my boyish heart it was the countenance of an angel."87"What in the world did you say," interrupted Mrs. Haviland, her bright eyes filling with tears, as she saw how the memory of this beautiful woman affected her husband. "Say! There was very little I could say, I think all I did for some time was to look. I managed to dispose of the tobacco, however, and wiped my mouth very carefully, all of which I felt certain she saw and mentally commented upon." "'Have you a mother, little boy?' she next asked in the same low tone. "'No ma'am,' I answered, and I felt my throat filling up, and I knew that I must swallow mighty fast to keep from sobbing. "'You have a father then, I suppose?' she kept on. "'Then the little boy is all alone in the world?' "'How long has his mother been dead?' and the dear woman looked away from my face, and waited till I could speak. "'Two years,' I answered. "'And you loved her?' came next. "'Dearly,' was all that I could say. She was silent for a moment, and then said so sweetly—oh! I shall never forget it—'and what do you think your dear mother would say—how do you think she would feel—to know that her little boy was guilty of such a disgusting habit as this?' pointing to my cheek where the tell-tale quid had vainly tried to stand its ground. "'I must leave now,' she continued, 'but here is my card, and if you come to me most any evening, I shall be glad to see you, and perhaps we can be of service to each other.' "She gave me her little gloved hand, and to my dying day, I shall never forget the sensations of that moment. I could not bear to part with her; without her I felt that I could do nothing—with her, I could grow to man's estate—a man in the truest sense of the word. From that moment tobacco never passed my lips. "As soon as I could muster courage I called upon the lady. Well do I remember how my heart beat as I waited in the elegant parlor for her to come down; and how awkward I felt as I followed my guide to her private sitting room. Here she got at every point of my life, and before I bade her good-bye it was arranged that I should spend two evenings of each week at her house, and I was to read and study on these occasions just what she thought best. "No lover ever looked forward to meetings with the mistress of his heart any more ardently than I did to these evenings with my friend. "I grew careful of my personal appearance—careful of my conversation, and strove in every way to be worthy this noble friendship. Two years passed in this delightful manner—two years that made me. My friend not only attended to my studies, striving also all the while to sow the right kind of spiritual seed, but she procured me a business situation with a particular friend of hers, where I remain to this day. Nobody but God knows what I owe this woman. During the last three months of those two years, I noticed that she grew constantly pale and thin; she never was betrayed into speaking of herself. Sometimes when I would ask her if she felt worse than usual she would reply:— "'Oh, no! I am only a little tired—that is all.' "One evening she kept me by her sofa much longer than was her custom, while she arranged lessons, and laid out work enough it seemed to me, for months. "'Why so much to-night?' I inquired, conscious that my heart ached, and vaguely suspecting the cause. "'Because dear,' she answered, 'I do not want you to come for the next week, and I am anxious that you should have sufficient work to anticipate, as well as to keep you busy. I think I can trust you to be a good boy, John!' "'I think you can, ma'am,' I answered almost sobbing. "I soon comprehended it all, and my grief knew no bounds. It is no use to go on. She died two days after; and when I hear folks saying: 'There's a woman at the bottom of it,' I feel like telling the whole world what a woman did for me."—Sel. It is a most fearful fact to think of, that in every heart there is some secret spring that would be weak at the touch of temptation, and that is liable to be assailed. Fearful and yet salutary to think of; for the thought may serve to keep our moral nature braced. It warns us that we can never stand at ease, or lie down in this field of life, without sentinels of watchfulness, and camp-fires of prayer.